


right now it feels good not to stand

by Anonymous



Category: Weekend Update (SNL)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Please don't read if you are triggered, References to Depression, Scars, Self-Harm, Whump, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:22:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26872117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "Can I ask you sort of a weird question?" Seth begins. "Why do you always wear long sleeves?"
Relationships: Seth Meyers/Stefon
Comments: 6
Kudos: 75
Collections: Anonymous





	right now it feels good not to stand

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. I am posting this fic mainly as a coping mechanism. Writing this was very cathartic for me because I struggle with a lot of the things I write about in this fic. However, I am posting this on Anonymous due to the very personal nature of these things. I may be willing to de-anon in the future, but truthfully I am nervous to post it. I hope others can get something out of this fic, which is another reason why I'm posting it. I know it must seem odd to write such an angsty fic about an SNL character, but Stefon is a character I take a lot of comfort in when I am sad and I can imagine him going through similar things that I've been through.
> 
> Furthermore, I did the absolute best I can to not romanticize mental illness, depression, or self harm while writing this fic. I admit that I was in a very bad mental state when I wrote it, but I want to make it clear that it is not my intention to encourage these behaviors or think that they can be cured just by falling in love. I wanted to keep it true to the characters, but I understand if they may come off OOC.
> 
> The title is from the song "I See You" by Phoebe Bridgers. 
> 
> **Please do not read if you are triggered by discussion of self harm and the scars that come with it, as well as depression, anxiety, and brief discussion of drug use.**

“Can I ask you sort of a weird question?” Seth begins, drumming his pencil against his desk.

Stefon, draped over the couch not unlike Rose in _Titanic_ (although he’s fully clothed) looks up slowly. “Mhm, of course, Seth Meyers. Stefon loves weird questions.”

“Why do you always wear long sleeves?”

When Stefon heard ‘weird question’, he was expecting something much less...benign sounding. Then again, it’s not a topic they’ve spoken about before. Seth doesn’t tend to comment on his fashion sense, aside from things like, “That’s a really flashy shirt, Stefon” and “Are those new boots? You look so tall”. He can tell by the way Seth is tapping his pencil faster and faster that he’s a bit embarrassed that he asked the question. He’s trying to be delicate, and Stefon appreciates that, but he still doesn’t quite know how to respond. So, he shrugs nonchalantly. “Oh, you know,” he replies, “I just like it that way.”

“Even when it’s hot?” Seth asks, then quickly catches himself. “Sorry. I’m prying. You do what works for you, buddy.”

Stefon waves a hand, trying to reassure him. He doesn’t want his friend to feel bad for what they both know is an innocent question. “It’s alright, Seth Meyers, really. Yes...even when it’s hot, I just prefer long sleeves. I like how they look better.”

“I’m sure you’d look good wearing anything, Stefon.”

“What about nothing at all?”

“Ste _fon!_ ” Seth exclaims, but there’s a glint of humor in his eyes, mixed with visible relief.

The silence that follows should feel comfortable, but to Stefon, it feels like something still hangs there. “I just don’t like my arms,” he says, very quietly, but he knows that Seth can hear it, because his eyes flick up and meet Stefon’s.

“You don’t?”

Stefon shakes his head.

“Any reason why?”

He sighs heavily and pulls himself into a sitting position with his knees pressed against his chest. “I don’t like how they look.”

“An insecurity? I get it. I hate my side profile. When I first started doing Update, I would be super conscious about if I turned to the side, because I hated it that much and I didn’t want people to screengrab my face from that angle. Is that weird? Probably.” He chuckles sheepishly, messing with the strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

“I don’t think it’s weird, no,” Stefon muses. “But I like your side profile.” It’s true—he’s spent many moments admiring Seth when he sits next to him, the jutting line of his jaw and the unique shape of his nose. It frames his face and scrunches up when he laughs, and that’s enough for Stefon to consider it adorable as hell.

“Thank you, Stefon. And I’m sure I’d like your arms. I’m sure they’re a perfectly lovely pair of arms.”

Suddenly—so suddenly that he’s embarrassed at the uncontrollable nature of it—Stefon feels hot tears well up in his eyes. They spill over and trail down his cheeks quickly, and he swipes at his face quickly in an attempt to stop it, but it’s a futile gesture. Seth’s worried gaze burns into him from across the tiny office. “Oh, God, Stefon, are you okay? Did I say something wrong?”

Stefon shakes his head rapidly. “No, no, Seth Meyers, it’s not you. I promise it’s not you.” A hiccupping sob escapes from his mouth, which just makes the flush of humiliation on his cheeks deepen. It’s the first time he’s cried in front of Seth; he would have preferred to keep the counter firmly at zero. He can tell that Seth’s alarmed by it, too, and he wishes he could flip some sort of switch, turn the tears off and just pretend nothing ever happened.

“Stefon, if my question was insensitive, I totally get it, and I apologize sincerely. I really should’ve just—”

“It’s not that!” Stefon insists, voice warbling much to his frustration. “It’s just that...I don’t know. I guess Stefon is ashamed.”

“Ashamed of what?”

“I’ll show you,” Stefon decides. He’s sure that if he just decided to drop it, Seth would respect his decision and go back to his work, but he sees no point in not being honest. If he isn’t, he knows this odd interaction will linger in their memories for ages, probably leaving Seth more curious than he was when he asked the question. So he rolls up his sleeves and presents his arms to his closest, dearest friend, the man he is most likely in love with.

Seth’s eyes travel up and down his arms, eyebrows furrowing as they take in the sight of the scars there—the raised, white bumps that start on his inner wrist and continue up his forearm. They are not beautiful or delicate or artistic in any way; Stefon thinks they’re grotesque and ugly even if they’re not leaking blood anymore. The few times he’s exposed his arms, he’s noticed the looks and the frowns. He’s gotten questions, much more invasive than Seth’s, from strangers and even hookups. “You aren’t crazy, are you?” One guy had asked him. “Because I don’t stick my dick in crazy.”

Seth doesn’t say anything for a long while, and the silence because so oppressive for a moment that Stefon worries he won’t be able to breathe, until Seth says, very gently, “Oh, Stefon.”

“I know. I look awful, right? Like they should lock me up. But really, I haven’t done it in ages. A couple years, actually.”

The worried crease in Seth’s forehead softens slightly. “I’m glad to hear that. And I don’t think you’re crazy. Not at all.”

“It’s okay if you do. I used to all the time. Every day, almost. Like the day didn’t feel complete if I didn’t, even if everything was fine. It was like a routine, I guess.”

“Can I ask why?”

Stefon doesn’t usually allow himself to really look at his scars and dwell on the past like this, but he indulges, running his left hand over the scars slowly. “For a release, I guess. I felt too many things. I thought I really would go crazy, like, the kind of crazy where they lock you up, if I didn’t do it. It was easy enough to hide, and the heat doesn’t bother me. I got used to wearing long sleeves.”

“But you haven’t done it in a while,” Seth confirms.

Stefon shakes his head. “No, not since I got invited to do Update.” A weak smile tugs at the corners of Seth’s mouth. “I think I’m better and less crazy now, but I still...think about it, now and then. Wonder what would happen if I started again.”

“Even if you don’t believe me, I truly don’t think you’re crazy. Lots of people do that. You’re not the only person I know who’s—you know. Struggled with that.”

Stefon tilts his head, mustering up the ability to look at Seth again. He wonders if it’s really a “struggle” that he had. He was only around 15 when he first discovered that putting the disposable razor he used to shave to his arm made the constant noise in his head quiet down for a little bit. It truly was like a habit, but he always made sure to not deepen things too much or cause an excessive amount of bleeding. As distant as his mother was, there was no way she or David wouldn’t notice after a certain point, especially if he had to go to the hospital. It was his best kept secret, especially for someone who wasn’t very secretive otherwise. So maybe it really was a struggle, even if most of the struggle was hiding it from everyone. “I’m glad you don’t think I’m crazy, Seth Meyers,” he says, though he’s truly more grateful than he can express.

“Have you ever seen anyone about it?”

Another nonchalant shrug. “Once or twice. Shy—you know, the lawyer and piss artist that you met that one time—he set me up with a therapist because he saw these once and got worried. She was very nice, but it’s expensive if you don’t have insurance and Stefon feels mostly fine now.”

“Mostly fine?”

“Sure,” he replies. “I still get sad and nervous but I can usually manage it.” He pauses, knowing that if he doesn’t follow up on that comment, Seth will. “I know that, you know...drinking and taking pills isn’t a good solution, but I’m careful, Seth Meyers. I really am. I don’t have any plans to leave this earth until the earth is done with me.”

“Good. I really don’t like the idea of a world without Stefon.”

The tears have mostly stopped now, but they threaten to come back again, pricking at the corners of Stefon’s eyes. “Seth Meyers.” He says, voice wavering. “Thank you. I’m sorry. Thank you.”

Seth rises from his desk and comes over to the couch to wrap his arms around Stefon, letting him rest his head on his chest. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m sorry again if I made you say anything you didn’t want to.”

“You didn’t. You were so nice to me. You are so nice to me. Sometimes I don’t understand.” He presses his face into Seth’s shoulder and feels his arms tighten around him.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I—well, I like you a lot, Stefon.” He presses a warm cheek to the top of Stefon’s hair, and Stefon wonders if he could fall asleep like this, wrapped up in Seth’s arms, warm and safe. “I want to ask you one last question, and you don’t have to say yes.”

“Okay.”

“If you ever feel like, I don’t know, doing that again, or even if you just don’t feel good, do you think you could call me? It wouldn’t bother me at all. I like talking to you and I might be able to get your mind off things. And—this may be overstepping, but I might be able to set you up with someone to talk to. You know, like a professional that can work through that kind of stuff with you.”

Stefon swallows around the lump in his throat and answers as frankly as he can. “Stefon will think about that, okay?”

“Of course.” Seth nods, but still doesn’t move from his spot.

“But I’ll call you. Any excuse to take you away from your work, right, Seth Meyers?”

Seth laughs, and the rumbling of it is so comfortable that Stefon wants to burrow himself further into him and just stay there. If only. “I need an excuse sometimes.”

They stay like that for a long time, and Stefon nearly _does_ fall asleep, until Seth pulls away quietly, throwing a blanket over Stefon as he feels himself dozing off on the couch. Before he goes back to his desk, he kisses his head. That itself feels like another warm blanket has been draped across his body, and he naps for a few hours while Seth works.

Stefon doesn’t start wearing short sleeved shirts right away after that, and they don’t discuss the topic in detail much more, but he doesn’t immediately tug at his sleeves if he feels one riding up. He lets Seth touch him with more frequency and the instinct to flinch away doesn’t come. In fact, he finds that he _likes_ to be touched so much; he craved Seth’s fingers trailing up and down his back in a lazy and comforting way more than he realized. Seth doesn’t heal him or magically make the scars disappear or make the nearly-constant noise in his head go away forever, but he makes him feel safe and loved, as scary as that word is. It’s something he’s starting to lean into: letting himself be loved, and he knows that Seth can tell. Something is blooming between them that neither of them will verbally acknowledge, but it hangs in the air waiting to come to fruition patiently. They’re taking their time, but Stefon doesn’t feel too worried about it.

He doesn’t know that in a year they’ll be married, and Seth will press his lips to his wrist in the darkness of their room, which will feel like little electric shocks going up his arm in the best way. “You’re beautiful,” Seth will say, and it still won’t make the scars disappear, it still won’t erase the past, it still won’t take away the bad days. But it’ll make Stefon feel safe, and he’ll remember Seth saying he doesn’t like the idea of a world without him, and he’ll smile because he really truly believes it beyond a shadow of a doubt now.

Things won’t be perfect, and they won’t be neat and tidy—sometimes they’ll end up jagged and permanent like the marks on his arms, but he’ll keep going, not only for Seth but for himself. After all, he’ll decide that it’s not that the world’s not done with Stefon—it’s that Stefon isn’t done with the world. There’s too much to love and laugh and cry about and he doesn’t want to let it pass by.

**Author's Note:**

> I am moderating comments on this fic just because I know it is a sensitive topic, but I hope it will be well received. Thank you for reading and I hope you got something out of this fic.


End file.
